


old soldiers don't say i love you

by rokkasen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, mostly fluff tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokkasen/pseuds/rokkasen
Summary: Cassandra fights to keep the faith when things look grim; Varric fights to do the right thing. Just another day in Kirkwall. [post-DAI, pre-Trespasser]





	old soldiers don't say i love you

The scene was like something out of an unfinished draft of one of Varric’s books:

Nestled in the chaotic ruin that was Kirkwall, the very imperfect, impetuous, passionate hero -- Cassandra, in this case -- was soaking in a metal bathtub, drinking away her failures in the form of red wine straight from the bottle. The scenario was rife with delicious irony and imagery; a moral, hard working soldier drinking herself into a stupor -- in an inn in a dilapidated city that had started it all -- because faith was a commodity in short supply these days.

A devout woman who bordered on zealous, someone who always had faith even when her parents, brother, lover, friends had gone to the Maker’s side, spiraling quietly into despair as she lamented all that she had lost and what little she had gained --

Yep. It sounded like the ending to at least three of Varric’s last books.

Except, of course, Cassandra was still alive, so she had made out better than most of his protagonists.

She squinted at the bottle of wine in her hand. Cassandra was not a very good storyteller, and she was more than a little drunk, so the memory of how they -- she and her wine -- had gotten into this situation was not very linear. 

It all started with the shitshow in Rivain, that much she could recall with painful clarity. There was nothing left of the Seekers there except an empty HQ and an echo of what had once been. She and Seeker Emery had temporarily parted ways while Cassandra journeyed from Ostwick to Kirkwall trying to desperately justify her decision to herself to rebuild the morally bankrupt Seekers.

There had been rumors, hints, mystery after mystery for Cassandra to chase. She had nothing to go on but hope and steel resolution that she could not, would not fail.

But here she was, no closer to her goal, failing miserably. 

In fucking _Kirkwall_.

Cassandra had gotten distracted by her utter distaste for the city and wondered where she was in her tale. Ah yes. After the journey, tired and dirty, the bathtub in her room at the inn had called to her with its sweet siren song. It seemed a little lonely to go alone (and Cassandra wasn’t so brazen -- or desperate -- to look for company at The Blooming Rose), so she brought a bottle of Flames of Our Lady (the irony not lost on her) to keep her company. 

She drank and drifted, letting herself sob painfully in the privacy of the darkened bathroom, as she mentally replayed all of the ways her best intentions had gone so horribly awry through the years.

Cassandra heard someone distantly calling her name but ignored it in favor of another swig of wine.

“Did you think you could sneak into my city without so much as a hello?” The voice said as it came closer to the door. What should have been heavy boot steps were surprisingly light on the creaky, shoddy wooden floors. “I think I’m a little insulted.”

She snorted softly, leaning her head back on the wall behind her. Maybe if Cassandra wished really, really hard, the most annoying person she had ever known would just quietly disappear.

A sharp knock on the door told her that she had no such luck. “Hey, are you dead in there? I really can’t have the Hero of Orlais and Right Hand of the Divine commit suicide in Kirkwall -- we’re having enough trouble with tourism as is.” Another pause. The voice was laced with something that sounded suspiciously like concern. “Seeker?”

She sighed. “Go away, Varric.”

The now familiar sound of someone jimmying a lock open told her that Varric would not, in fact, go away. Without hesitation, he walked in and immediately turned his back to her respectfully. A small part of her toyed with the idea of chucking her wine bottle at him but it was still half full and wasn’t it a cardinal sin to waste when so many people were without good wine?

“You look terrible,” the viscount of Kirkwall said and dropped to sit next to the tub, clearly not minding the wet floor.

Cassandra sighed again. At least she could count on their banter as a distraction, if only temporarily. “What do you want, Varric? You cannot expect me to believe that you are angry I didn’t deign to grace you with my presence.”

He shrugged and leaned back against the tub, folding one leg over the other at the ankle. “Nah, had nothing better to do so I figured I’d come annoy you to make up for lost time.”

“Lucky me,” she said dryly. Varric reached an arm back and gestured with his hand impatiently. “What?”

“The wine, Seeker. It’s been a long day.” Varric tilted his head. “A long week. Month. Life. You know.”

She did know and so Cassandra passed him the bottle of wine without argument.

Varric unceremoniously drank from it, clearly not minding that her mouth had been on it moments before. “So, what are we drinking to?”

“To Kirkwall,” Cassandra suggested. “It looks slightly less miserable since the last time I was here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I only had to fight off three pick pockets this time,” Cassandra said. “Surely a sign of true change.”

Varric scowled. “You’re the worst.”

Cassandra laughed for the first time… well, she didn’t even know. A comfortable silence fell between them as they passed the bottle back and forth. “Perhaps I am in the wrong line of work,” she said quietly. “As you’re so fond of saying, apparently I am not a very good Seeker. I am not very good at finding things. I could not even find Hawke.”

“Ah,” Varric said wisely after knocking back another healthy gulp. “So that's what's going on. Who knew even the illustrious Seeker can brood?”

“And what would you know about that, Varric?”

“Drinking and obsessively reliving your failures? Haven’t you read my book, _‘You’re a Disappointment to Everyone, So You Might as Well Imbibe: The Varric Tethras Story’”_?

Cassandra arched an eyebrow. “As if you’d write a book about your failures. Much too incriminating.”

She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “Touché.” Varric put the wine down on the floor. “Things not going well with the Seekers?”

“You could say that,” Cassandra said. “For them to be ‘not well’, they would have to be going at all. I wonder if this is a sign. Perhaps the Seekers are just a relic of the past.”

“Maybe,” Varric said. “But when has uncertainty ever stopped you before?”

“It’s disconcerting how you well you know me, Varric,” Cassandra said before she could stop herself. “Am I so easy to read?”

“I’ve had a few years practice. Besides, you’re not exactly a master at subtlety. I have a few scars to prove it.”

Cassandra shifted in the tub as the water began to cool. The skin on her fingers was puckering; she would need to get out soon. That would be interesting, now that she had company. Should she just stand while his back was turned? They were both adults and surely Varric had seen his fair share of naked women. It probably wouldn’t scandalize him too badly. But then again, he did have an annoying chivalrous streak that tended to pop up from time to time.

Mostly when it suited his agenda, Cassandra thought knowingly.

Without warning, she stood up unsteadily. The sound of the water moving clearly startled Varric and Cassandra took pride in startling someone who made a career of being unshakable. He scrambled to his feet, picked up a long drying cloth, and held it behind him, still not turning around to look at her.

“Thank you.” 

She dried off quickly, throwing on a comfortable tunic and well worn trousers. Cassandra sunk slowly onto the nearby bed, nearly moaning in satisfaction. It was a luxury to sleep in a bed -- in a place with a roof and indoor plumbing -- so much softer than her usual bed rolls. The room was old but warm with a crackling fireplace and a bearskin rug with the head still attached. With some surprise, Cassandra realized that she felt lucid and relaxed, maybe for the first time in weeks. Maybe for the first time in her life.

Varric risked a look over his shoulder, turning fully when she was covered. “There she is,” he said with a warm smile. The ties on the front of her shirt were undone and Cassandra wondered if she had just hallucinated the lingering glance. “No armor?”

“To bed?” Cassandra scoffed. “Hardly practical. But,” she reached under the pillow to pull out a knife. “One can never be too careful.”

He laughed. “Never change, Seeker.”

“Varric.”

“Yes, Seeker?”

“Come over here.”

“Is that a command?”

“A request.”

Varric folded his arms across his chest, clearly hesitating. The room wasn’t large, but there was enough space between them that Cassandra knew that his position was entirely intentional. But why? “You’d think a royal would know that a request is usually followed with a polite _please_.”

“Varric,” Cassandra said patiently.

“Seeker,” he mimicked her even tone.

“I mean you no harm,” she promised. 

“Well, there are no steps to throw me down but now I know you keep a scary knife under your pillow,” Varric said, no heat behind his words. “My self preservation is telling me to stay put.”

Cassandra couldn’t fight her tired smile. “Varric. Please.”

As if possessed, he slowly made his way over to her. With Cassandra sitting and Varric standing, they were at eye level with each other. It was weird and a little unnerving but the wine had effectively squashed her usual fight or fight harder instinct when it came to Varric. “Ta-dah,” he said. “Here I am.”

“So you are.”

She reached up to cup his face, slow enough that he could have shaken her off. His skin was warm, day old stubble rough against the palm of her hand. Cassandra couldn’t remember the last time she had touched another person without her gloves on. “Seeker,” he said, voice suddenly coarse. 

“Varric,” she answered lightly. “You are in desperate need of a shave.”

“It adds to my rogue-ish charm.”

“Ah, of course. I should have guessed.”

He took a deep breath. “You didn’t ask me over here to criticize my grooming habits.”

“No.”

“Then?”

Cassandra gave him an appraising look. Words, even without the alcohol, were never her strong point. Instead of answering, she slid her hand to the back of his neck and tugged him down, kissing him softly, more softly than she thought she was capable of.

“Shit. _Shit._ We can’t.” Varric broke off and took a hesitant step back. She had never seen him look so off-kilter. “I can’t. It’s not right.”

She couldn’t even muster up disappointment or shame at her clear desperation; all Cassandra felt was a pervasive hollow numbness. “Stay.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.” Varric was starting to look upset; even with Cassandra’s lack of experience in personal relations, she knew things were headed south. “I didn’t come here for this. You have to believe that.”

The desperation in his voice sobered her enough to start to regret everything, from stopping in Kirkwall to downing her bodyweight in alcohol to propositioning one of her oldest acquaintances. “I know.”

Varric scrubbed at his face. “Everything I touch turns to shit,” he muttered. “I’m getting too old to be someone’s drunken mistake.”

Cassandra put her hand on his bicep, shame burning through her like holy fire. “Enough. I didn’t mean --”

“I’ve done -- Maker’s balls, I’ve done a lot of asshole things in my life,” Varric said, putting his hand on top of hers. “I don’t want to be one more thing you regret. So, please. Don’t ask me to stay.” Cassandra opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “I don’t have enough moral fiber to do the right thing.”

Her face flushed and when she tried to tug her hand away, he clearly overpowered her and held it firm. “You are right. This isn’t appropriate. I apologize. I should have never… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Varric said, voice as soft as their brief kiss. He let go of her hand and pushed gently at her shoulders, forcing her to lie down. “Just sleep it off and we’ll talk tomorrow. Or you can just go straight to punching me. Ladies’ choice.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing the tightness in her throat. “Alright.”

“Ask me tomorrow.”

Her eyes popped open, watching him as he walked towards the door. “Excuse me?”

“If you’re serious, ask me tomorrow to stay. You know, when you haven’t scoffed down an entire bottle of wine.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Tease,” Varric said in parting, but he was smiling and that was good enough for her.

Tomorrow.

Finally, something to look forward to.


End file.
